Help
by crazybeagle
Summary: "Where's AA?" you ask, slowly. His head rolls up towards yours. He's grinning now, madly, his teeth yellow with his blood. "Dead," he breathes, then passes out. Karkat finds Sollux in the aftermath of Aradia's murder.


The message is short, and weird, and when you first get it you think he's just fucking with you. Looks like a keysmash mixed in with his normal idiotic leetspeak. And if it wasn't for the fact that he's been ignoring your messages for the past day or two, you'd have thought it was some kind of virus code. Asking around a bit confirms that it isn't just you—since early yesterday at least nobody's seen or heard from him.

Not that it hasn't happened before. Your first thought is he's either in the middle of some psychic-induced shit, migraines or vertigo or something that's keeping him floored and unable to look at a computer screen. That, or he's off with Aradia. Or both—as far as you know Aradia's the only person he'll let around him when he gets like that. For all that the dude's all about the doomsday prophecies, particularly those that involve himself, he's surprisingly taciturn when it comes to the actual physical toll of the "vii2iion twofold." Not that the episodes didn't leave him one grumpy, misanthropic bastard for days, but aside from "my head ii2 fuckiing kiilliing me," you know little about what he actually experiences. Which is vaguely unsettling, you guess, but he always bounces back fine within a few days.

But Aradia's not answering you, either, and that in itself might not have had you worried if not for the actual message Sollux had sent you.

_TA: Agfkiilmf22iiii2he222fffwhereii2ggghhff_

_TA: 2he_

_TA: help_

It's the last line of the message that makes you drop what you're doing and head for his place. It's a good few miles' walk but at least it's not an unreasonable distance. It would be for anybody else, with the possible exception of Gamzee, who lives second-closest by. But you don't trust him to look after himself, let alone anybody else.

It's dusk when you arrive, cold. The front door's open. By no means is this an invitation to enter—while his lusus is more benign in nature than yours is, if it was there and Sollux was inside and hurt, the lusus would not hesitate to quite literally rip your head off in his defense. If anybody happened to look out their window when you entered you'd probably look like some kind of psychopath with your scythe out in front of you walking in the front door.

But his lusus isn't here, not that you can see. The hive has a bizarre, sprawling floor plan, claustrophobic and dark. Walls that aren't lined cluttered shelves of programming books and dusty computer parts were coated floor to ceiling with hives of honeycomb, the smell sickly sweet, some parts dry and waxy, some oozing onto the floor. You were never clear on how this lusus fed, exactly, or where it slept for that matter, or how it spent its days, but the tunnel-like corridors make it seem as though Sollux is merely some kind of computer-hoarding stowaway in the lair of a monster.

When you finally find your way to the open space you recognize as the main living area, you have bits of honeycomb stuck fast in your hair and your skin is crawling. You don't see him. More books, more computer parts mixed in with heaps of wire, more random-assed stacks of honeycomb, but no Sollux. The small kitchen and the bathroom are empty, too. Dirty dishes are piled high in the kitchen sink, and there's a rumpled pile of old towels on the bathroom floor. You pick one up—there is some kind of dried, dark-red liquid, almost black in color, caked onto it in both flecks and great smears. It flakes off where you touch it and it sets your heart racing.

Another winding tunnel, smaller and darker than the others, leads to his respiteblock. You have to duck in places to keep your head from banging against the ceiling. You always thought that this must be an extra pain in the ass for Sollux, who's got a good few inches on you, and sure enough there are gouges and troughs in fours in the waxy ceiling where his horns have hit.

His door is open halfway, though you can't see any lights on in the room. You call is name, twice. Nothing.

You duck into the respiteblock, silently, your grip tightening on your scythe and your ears pricked, but there's no sign of the lusus. In fact, there's no sign of Sollux either, just a bigger, more catastrophic mess than you'd found in any of the other rooms, throwing bizarre shadows on the wall in the faint glow of the recuperacoon. You almost faceplant tripping over some bulky computer monitor turned on its side—damn thing's got to be five sweeps old at least—and wind up nearly stumbling headlong into that huge, weird honeycomb collection he keeps in here, each the size of a tall filing cabinet, with all the wires and cords snaking out of them for no discernible reason. Unlike the others, these actually come with bees, fat purple ones bobbing around lazily, and thankfully more interested in the honey than they are in you.

He should be here…it doesn't make sense that he wouldn't be. He sent you that message not too long ago. You're about to leave to check Aradia's place when you finally notice it—the churning red and blue light of the double recuperacoon falls on the dark space underneath the computer desk. There's a hand lying there, its fingers curled and twitching. It's splattered and crusted with yet more of that dried, rust-colored substance.

"Sollux?" You drop to your knees, approaching the desk slowly.

To be honest, if you hadn't seen his hand move, you might have thought he was dead at first. His eyes are wide and glazed, staring at nothing, his mouth hanging open, glasses dangling half off the end of his nose. There's dried blood—dark yellow, his own—smeared across his face, under his eyes, the corner of his mouth, and even by the looks of it inside his ears. His body's nearly folded in two, crammed in the small, dark space, and fine tremors are running through him.

"Fuck," you breathe.

Gingerly you reach out to touch his shoulder, but he doesn't seem to know you're there. His breath is coming in short, ragged gasps now, and his lips are moving. You lean in closer—it sounds as though he's trying to say something—but your heart drops out through the bottom of your stomach when you realize just _what _it is he's trying to say.

"Kill…" you finally make out. "Kill…kill…" That wheezy, ragged breathing, you realize with a jolt, is laughter. His lips twitch upward. "_Kill…kill…kill_…"

"_Sollux._" You smack his cheek, lightly, then not-so-lightly. His eyes remain wide and fixed on the underside of the desk, and _your _eyes travel down to his hands, his arms, coated in that same awful red up to the elbow.

_Fuck. _

"Wake up, man. Come on." You take his shoulders and tug him towards you.

There's a flash of red light, and of blue, a dry electric crackle. And suddenly you're flat on your back, the air stolen from your lungs, your chest feeling vaguely as though somebody had punched their fist through it. You smell burnt hair. You think it's probably yours.

You try to sit up, only to be knocked right back down with a brilliant flash of red and blue that sears itself into your retinas even as it's tearing through your body. The edges of your vision are going grey, a fist tightening around your heart, your lungs.

You hear screaming.

And suddenly you can breathe again.

With a titanic effort you manage to pull yourself up off the ground, your chest burning in protest, your entire torso aching fiercely. Sollux has his head in his hands, colored sparks dancing and popping a few inches above his eyes, psionic lightning shooting down his arms and collecting and pooling at his fingertips. He singes his own hair as he tugs on it, crying out.

"Sollux!" You don't dare touch him again, not like this. Another cry tears itself from his throat, and you keep yelling his name.

"Calm _down, _alright?!"

He doesn't. His nose starts to bleed. Starbursts of red and blue are reflected in wide eyes.

"Look, I can't help you if you _don't calm down_!" Not that you really know how the fuck to help him anyway.

It takes a long moment, but he blinks, once, twice. The sparks in front of his eyes fizzle out and die, and he rolls his head in your direction.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

His fingers slide down from his scalp to his cheekbones, the sparks at his fingertips crackling loudly and then disappearing.

"…V-Vantasth?"

You nod.

His face crumples. "My head…"

"I know, dude. Come on." You start to reach for him again, very cautiously, but he flinches and you pause.

"Are you gonna zap me again?" you ask.

"…no…" He sounds like a small child, and you feel nauseous.

You hold out your hands to him, but he just stares at them like he doesn't understand what he's supposed to do.

You reach for his face, remove his hands yourself. His skin is hot, and some of the rust-red crumbles and flakes off beneath your fingers. And you know with a sudden dreadful certainty that it's blood.

_Aradia._

Even conscious, Sollux is a dead weight, and you have to drag him out from under the desk and haul him upright entirely under your own power. Your vision nearly whites out when he pitches forward onto you, his head and his horns slamming into your sore chest. You grimace and wrap an arm around him, shifting his head to your shoulder. He's whimpering, and you can feel the warmth of his blood seeping into your shirt.

"What did you do?" you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

Abruptly, he barks a short, harsh laugh. It's a manic sound.

"Where's AA?" you ask, slowly.

His head rolls up towards yours. He's grinning now, madly, his teeth yellow with his blood.

"Dead," he breathes, then passes out.

Getting him into his recuperacoon isn't an option. The thing's eight feet tall at least, with small, precariously placed hand and footholds for climbing, and you think you understand the purpose of the rumpled futon thing shoved in the corner of the living area, piled high with blankets and pillows. You wonder how often it happens that Sollux can't make it to his recuperacoon. Even if you could drop him in there without a problem, you're not entirely sure he won't drown in his own slime in there; he needs to be looked after right now.

Your chest feels like dull spikes have been embedded into it, and the room spins a bit when you finally manage to stand up with Sollux in your arms. But he's not very heavy. Tall and gangly, yes, but you'd bet anything he's the sort who gets so lost in his own computer screen that he forgets to eat.

Yes, the futon sounds like a good idea right now. You stumble sideways into the wall a few times on your way back through the tunnel into the living area. Sollux's head knocks into the wall a few times—he moans but doesn't wake. He has a chunk of dry honeycomb stuck on the end of one of his horns by the time you make it into the room. Your lungs are on fire when you lie him down on the futon; your limbs trembling with exertion. You hope to god his lusus doesn't come back anytime soon—if it does, you're no match for it. Hell, you're tempted to scoot Sollux over and lie down yourself for a few minutes.

But there's blood dribbling from Sollux's lips now, and down his chin, and his nose is still bleeding sluggishly. Panic overrides sleepiness. You pull his head onto your lap. He's bitten his lip, you see upon closer observation. You wipe away some of the blood with your sleeve, and his eyelids flutter.

He looks up at you, blearily, eyes still half-lidded, brows drawing together. "W-w-what…" he whispers, and starts to lift his hands, presumably to rub his eyes. You grab his wrists and hold them down, pinning them to his sides. Whatever he's done, he doesn't need to see the blood to remind him. If he loses his shit again, well…whatever state Aradia's in right now you're no good to either of them if you get yourself killed.

Vague irritation crosses his face when you trap his hands, but he's too weak to fight you.

He frowns. "…The fuck're you doing here, Vantasth?" he slurs.

"Making sure your stupid face doesn't drown in your own grub sauce blood is apparently what the fuck I'm doing here," you tell him.

"What happened?" His forehead creases. You don't let go of his arms. "Augh, my head…"

"You don't remember." It's not a question.

He shakes his head slightly, winces. "W-wasth resthponding to a messthage from Stherket, I-I think, then—" Another burst of red and blue suddenly flares at his temples, and the air crackles with heat. He cries out. You grip is arms tighter, bracing him, praying those sparks don't spread this time.

By the time they disappear, he's sweating, and his eyes are watering. "Aradia," he rasps. "W-where…"

You slide your hands down to his wrists. The dried blood is brittle beneath your fingers there, and your stomach turns. "Not here right now." You gulp. He screws his eyes shut.

"Get her?" he grinds out. His breathing is labored.

"I will," you tell him. "Sleep, alright?"

More sparks pop, hovering above his eyes, and he moans. You rub small circles into his wrists with your thumbs.

He either passes out again or falls asleep, eventually. The pain in his head keeps him from asking questions, and all he can really do is lie still. But by the time he's out, your legs are asleep, your back aching from hunching over him. You slide yourself carefully out from under him and head for the bathroom, grabbing for one of the bloodied towels and wetting it in the sink. It isn't until you're holding the thing under the stream, watching the water turn pink, that you realize your hands are trembling.

He doesn't wake when you clean the blood off his arms or face. He's pale, and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looks like death, but at least he doesn't look like he'll be waking up anytime soon, and as long as he's down for the count you figure you should try to contact AA again.

_TA: HEY_

_TA: ITS CG_

_TA: IM WITH TA AND HES COVERED IN RED SHIT AND OUT OF HIS THINKPAN BABBLING SOMETHING ABOUT YOU BEING DEAD _

_TA: SO IM KINDA FREAKING OUT HERE_

_TA: SO YEAH UH_

_TA: LET ME KNOW YOU ARENT DEAD OK_

_TA: ARADIA_

_TA: HEY_

_TA: SERIOUSLY WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU_

She never answers, and your insides are twisting themselves into awful knots. But if you leave Sollux like this, you might have two dead friends on your hands. Whatever he did, it's clear he overexerted himself. He's running a fever now, and he's muttering things in his sleep. You try not to listen too carefully, or read his lips, because you have a nasty feeling it's still _kill…kill…_

You're not sure when it was that you yourself fell asleep, but you wake facedown on the futon in a puddle of your own drool. There's no window in here, so you have no idea what time it is.

Sollux is lying on his back next to you, staring at the ceiling. When you sit up, the muscles in your chest screaming in protest, his gaze lands on you.

"She's dead." His voice is quiet, but flat.

"…Who?" you ask, apprehensive.

"She's dead," he repeats. He holds up his hands, now clean, looking at them as though they're some kind of foreign entity. He lets them fall onto his chest, and he closes his eyes. "Dead…"

It's not just the flatness of his voice that unnerves you. It takes a second to realize it, but he's speaking the words properly, pronouncing the _s'_s.

"Go back to sleep, man, okay?" you tell him, carefully. "You need anything? Water?"

He lifts his hands to his face, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, shakes his head.

"Okay…" Regardless, you think it's probably a good idea to get some water into him anyway. That, and check for a response from Aradia. You have a sinking feeling that there won't be one. Maybe you actually should talk Gamzee into going to check on her…

You begin to scoot yourself backward off the futon, to stand up, but you start when his hand shoots out and grabs your wrist.

"Don't leave." Panic flashes in his eyes. "Pleasthe…" Gone is that terrifying flatness.

You blink. "Dude, what…"

You don't even know what it is you want to ask. _What have you done, _maybe.

But you've never seen Sollux _afraid _before. In his right mind he'd never be outright begging you for anything. He's wringing your hand, and he looks desperate. Petrified. Maybe of himself.

"Sthay," he says, and you think your fingers might snap in two from how hard he's gripping them.

You gulp. "I will." And you lower yourself back down beside him.

He's got your hand in both of his when he finally falls asleep again.

You don't fall asleep for a long, long time.


End file.
